A few meters of climbing and the mountain became sheer, jutting upwards as to hang me upside down. Just above my position was a ledge that I reasoned would afford me a place of safety. As I reached for the rock, the handle on the ledge broke off, slicing my hairline just above my ear as it tumbled out of view.
Dangling now, I fixed my eye on getting to the ledge. To retreat meant a fall, likely resulting in injury. A struggled lunge and I landed a second hand grip
on the flat above. A great heave with a sideways foothold lifted me precariously on to the front of the outcropping. I was still trembling from the adrenaline as I cursed my slip. Regaining my composure, I curiously noticed that the ledge had an inscription carved into it. However, a big chunk of the chiseled word was now visiting the lower regions of the hill. Looking up the sharp angles ahead, I could make out other inscriptions. However, I was unable to read them from where I was positioned. Each carving held a spot along the route.
After catching my breath I froze in study as movement caught my attention to the left. A noise behind and to the right confirmed that I was not alone on the mountain. To the left I saw another man, much older than me trying to make his way up. Out of audible voice range, he looked over at me with a sparkle in his eye. His climb was slow but sure. He somehow knew he was going to make it to the top. Behind me I noticed a young woman sitting on a ledge dejected. Her slump and head shake cried defeat. She too was out of voice range.
My returning glance brought the realization that the mountain was alive with people trying to make their way up. Some however were slip-sliding back down. Seeing the others also awakened me to the fact that we were not all on the same mountain. My first investigation had been trained to the people. A little craning and turning of the head and I saw that each was on his or her own mountain. From one angle they all blended together like one defiantly gigantic wall. Closer inspection showed the individual rises. Like the turning of a hologram the dimensions and character began to rotate my assumptions.
Their mountains too had names on them. It was much easier to read the names in front of everyone else than it was to read my own. My words were viewed from the bottom up; and were only legible when rising to within a breath’s distance.
Over at the neighbors’ playgrounds I saw the words addiction, family, busyness, unforgiven, injury and pride. There were many more too numerous to absorb without lengthy study. Some words were fixed upon the mountain, while others seemed to ripple across the rock like so many searchlights jailing the climber when framed in by their presence.
The different words also seemed to define what type of rock, and what type of conditions existed in the immediate vicinity. Busyness had chiseled out a very noticeable resting area of rough-cut unfinished construct. Success had ornately plastered its own banner in the flat of the stone; but once a hand passed over it, the word temporarily faded. They could admire it and touch it, but not completely possess it.
Pride was one of the moving words. It would be there one moment, and then gone the next. Pride would re-appear elsewhere. Whatever it touched transformed into the brightly colored and extravagant. The presentation caused some to smile and others to duck. There were numerous encounters with Pride, for it was on most mountains. In fact, as I began again my climb, similar words began appearing on my wall. I too saw the flash of pride in front of me. It paused just long enough to illicit a “hey, look at me!” When it passed it was blindingly bright, causing me to look to the side for a moment to maintain my vision and direction. Every time Pride left, I knew it would come back. It was relentless.
Surprisingly, knowing that my struggle was not rare strengthened me. As I made my way forward, I came to a large outcropping. It was too large to go around. There were good handholds and footholds up the side; but as I reached for the first grip I realized a new challenge. In addition to being large, the outcropping was extremely slippery and covered in a moldy slime. It was not reliable at all.
Up and to the right I found a heavy vine with Trust grafted into its fibers. Several unsuccessful attempts at scaling the greasy steps and I targeted my plan on the possibility of the vine. To reach it would require a lunge. If I missed, a decently scary drop to a ledge below waited. My stretch was half-hearted. Midway through my reach I knew I would not make it. I had misjudged the effort needed to propel myself across to the vine. In turn I found my momentum escaping as I fingered franticly for the lifeline to my side. Finally gaining a grip, I belly-flopped off the shelf, dragging dirt off the ledge behind me with my feet. Clinging desperately to the vine, I winced in anticipation of my knees and toes smacking into the ridges ahead. No places to grab hold, and my options about to swing backwards, I heaved a leg onto the landing. A few grunts, and ridiculous flailing, secured me sufficiently big-eyed on my goal of a next step. Graceful, I thought sarcastically.
After catching my breath with a survivor’s smile I looked upward and spotted a dry foothold. However, I lost focus for a moment as the bruises on my knees reminded me that the next jump would have to be an all or nothing proposition. Another word sat paused in my landing zone. I shifted onto my feet to get a full look. Achievement was scrawled there. My first thought was I did it! My second thought was: You’re lucky to not be lying in a heap of unidentifiable parts down below.
Had Trust not been there, I would have never scaled the Achievement. It wasn’t just what I had done that firmed me, but how I got there. What had I trusted in? And what had I achieved? In both cases I wasn’t sure. I did know for sure that without that vine I would still be down there looking up, trying to figure out how not to quit.
Rotating on my seat I found a climb of steps through a crease in the hill. My ascent encouraged, I began once again through this narrow stairway. Enthusiasm strengthened with each step. The haze above that had thickly barricaded the summit began to thin, revealing the openness of blue above. Despite heavy respiration, I covered big chunks of terrain while enjoying the giving of myself. I grew fatigued and energized all at once. Still I pushed faster and faster while keeping an eye on my destination.
Suddenly the stairs ended against an accidental wall. I thought surely this wall was not meant to be here. The entire top of the mountain was a steep glassy sheet too tall and wide to get over or around. I studied the impasse, but found no cracks nor holes. I reasoned, sat down, and frowned up at what I was sure was the finish of this bruising stretch. The sun was warm and the breeze crisp. Alternating between plans and pouting, I sat until Quitting came and took a seat beside me. I had invited it over by the demoralization that also allowed it to take root. In other words it was fertile soil. Quitting’s message was clear: You’ve done enough. Nice try. Quitting also visited the others on their mountains. Sympathy too briefly joined our static party, but left as soon as it arrived.
Looking over the edge, I did not consider down as an option anymore. Nonetheless, in my mind I could still see the cozy cottage by the trail that was maintained by the watchman. How nice it seemed. I was frozen. I couldn’t go up or down. An eternity of sighs had left knuckle imprints on my cheek. Numbness had come through immobility when I heard a feint voice. Initially I could not locate the direction of the voice for the restrictive tunnel of doom that encapsulated my interpretation. Slowly the voice approached my awareness. I eased back a look left and right for the possible approach of one of my fellow climbers. There was no one. My ears scanned the wind for the origination of the sound. Again came the voice. My radar pointed up. Up? I thought. Could it be? The voice cascaded from the top of the mountain down the granite to my position.
“Throw up your rope!” he shouted.
Rope? What rope? What was he talking about? Finally frustrated enough to end the voice’s obviously uninformed directive, I let out my response.
“I don’t have a rope,” I mumbled.
“In your bag,” came the reply.
“What bag? I don’t have a bag,” I charged.
“On your back,” he said
What was he talking about I wondered. Do I really want to connect with someone who is obviously detached from reality? I did not bring a bag or a rope. Maybe he was talking to another climber. I still couldn’t see anyone else. Again it came.
“The rope in the bag on your back, Get the rope out,” he retorted.
Exasperated and somewhat offended, I finally ventured an embarrassing glance over my shoulder. Jumping back, I quickly scurried back to the face of the mountain in shock.
“How? What?” was all that I could muster. There was a bag on my back; and I was none too settled about the prospect of magical appearing rucksacks. Saucer-eyed I cautiously slid a hand inside the bag. Slumping in surrendered stubbornness, I pulled the rope slowly out of its hiding place. On the end of the rope was a heavy metal hooked clasp with Humility inscribed in its crook. Sufficiently stupefied, I poked another glance up the giant rock window.
“Throw it up,” the voice called.
“I don’t think I can get it there, “ I finally exclaimed.
“Don’t worry. It will find its way,” was the response.
With an expression of Here goes nothing, I let the end fly skywards with my best, if not doubtful, effort. To my amazement the heavy metal hook did not plummet back down with the correcting force of a boomerang. Instead it continued to spiral up through the veil of mist and cloud above until the rope went taut.
“Tie it around you, and I will pull you up,” shouted my invisible friend.
By the slow rhythm of my shaking head I secured the rope around my torso. As the rope began to retreat, I planted my feet upon the rock, climbing steadily upwards perpendicular to the ground. Remarkably my feet held firm against the mirror that was the sheer face of the pinnacle of this hill. In relatively little time I was reaching over the top of this wall for the extended hand of my new acquaintance.
He was a young man. Not large. In fact, he was quite small by most measures. He smiled a greeting and helped me from my seat.
“Thank you,” I managed rather sheepishly.
‘It’s a pleasure,” he replied as he nodded for me to untie the knot holding the rope in place around my waist. Thumbing the tie undone, I tried to blurt out my big question.
“How did you--”
“How did I know about the rope?” he interrupted.
“Well, yes.”
“How did you not know about it? That which you carry with you are things unique to you. That’s why Humility was in your pack,” he answered.
“But how did you know I had it?” I insisted.
“Have you never noticed things in people? Have you lost all judgment? I could tell by your travel thus far you had what you needed,” said the youth.
“That’s more than I know,” I mumbled.
“I realize that; but you might want to become aware of what else you have in you.” With that he helped me to my feet, and we began to make our way across the thin-aired plateau. After several attempts at securing the young man’s name, I finally tight-mouthed my surrender. And then he answered.
“It’s not important for you to know right now.” With that terse statement he motioned me over to the other side.
“How’s the view?” finally broke our code of silence.
The view on the backside of the mountain was not bad at all. The down side was much more accommodating than the front side had been. A sturdy, easily traceable trail slithered down the much less aggressive slope. Below I could see others feeding onto the track from neighboring mountains. We all crossed the mountains at different points, but merged now into the same directive after our ascent. Those joining the flow seemed light upon their feet. The gravity of their success shoved them forward.
Everyone trafficked in one direction as they gathered mass and relationship on the road. The road itself headed straight out from the base of the hill. Calibrated for speed, the rural ramble hastened sure footing and the confidence to pursue the journey.
Ahead in the distance lay a city of mid-level occupation. It was where the tide was taking us. I could hear the low, throaty “wumps” emanating from the mountain’s base. Each deep tone seemed to correlate to a wave of enthusiasm amongst the scatterings of people. The effect was a shoving from behind that almost pushed everyone forward with too much pace. The urge within was simultaneously to push back, and to race down the slope in unrestrained gallops.
“Are you gathered?” asked the young man.
“Huh?” I replied, almost forgetting my new friend.
“Are you ready to continue?” he said.
I stammered out a yes and shook his hand like a welcomed guest whose stay has reached its acceptability. I smirked an acknowledgment and started my descent. As I edged the first bend the young man reminded me to always check my backpack. My pack and a conveyor belt of curiosity rushed me towards the travelers on the road below.
About three-fourths down I began to be joined by others swiftly exiting the mountains. Conversations eased our introductions as everyone was relieved to know they were not alone in the journey. Talk almost exclusively revolved around the mountains, which blended once again into one giant rock on the horizon.
“What was the name of yours?” was the usual question. Fear and Pride were the most common responses. My mountain, without question had been Fear. I have always been fearful of, and frustrated by, that which I couldn’t control. Thus far my life’s ambition had entailed building and accumulating a lifestyle that answered to me and me alone. I also began to realize that my castle of comfort had actually been a collection of all things inconsequential. My home amounted to rooms filled with milestone trinkets valued only for resale. However, it was all mine; and I controlled them.
“Fear. Fear will always war against opportunity and reality,” she interjected.
None of us had noticed that an older woman with a walking stick had joined us until she broke up our day-dreaming session. One of my new companions decided to question her further as it seemed evident to us that she was anticipating a discussion. She continued after a few moments of absorbing her presence into our group.
“Fear immobilizes and conjures up crazy un-thinkables,” she said. “What you fear is usually far worse than the thing you fear, warping reality. If you’re immobilized, you’ll never engage new opportunities and possibilities.” We all paused as she plodded past us. It was then that I noticed her walk was not like
ours. Where we had been anxious and ready to run, she had a strange graceful peace about her.
“We’ll be coming into town soon,” she informed our small huddle. A few eternities later she broke the silence that had settled on our entourage.
“Fear is a mocker, a loud mouth that rambles and shouts like a gossip not heard. Fear is a mountain; but courage, courage is different. Fear is aggressive, corrosive, and a bully. Courage is tiny but excessively strong. It can look insufficient or an impossibility.”
Our talk had carried us to the town gates. We had consumed the balance of the road without realizing the distance. A few meters from the gate our new sage stopped and turn to our small group.
“Just remember, courage is forever tied to the smallest visibility of hope. Together they are unconquerable.”
At that, she parted through us on her way back towards the mountain. A bit confused, and hurriedly trying to absorb her words, the seven of us realized we knew little about our journey.
